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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071817">Drive Darling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuladaris/pseuds/fuladaris'>fuladaris</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Inspired by Music, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Songfic, Title from a Boy Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:54:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuladaris/pseuds/fuladaris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Augustine sings, and Lysandre takes a nap. And, throughout it all, there is peace.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fleur-de-lis | Lysandre/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Drive Darling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The song that Augustine is singing (and that the title of this fic comes from) is “Drive Darling” by Boy. This is one of my oldest fics for these two, so it can also be found in full on tumblr!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>And children in the front yards, they hide and seek and laugh. I can almost hear you thinking ‘How could these days go by so fast?’ And no rearview could picture what we leave behind - drive darling, drive darling, drive darling, drive, darling, drive…</em>”</p><p>”I know this song, and I think you’re out of tune, Augustine,” Lysandre admonishes, softly, the thickness of his voice indicating that he’s about to fall asleep, head leaning back against the sofa, eyes closed - it’s as if the other man is singing him a lullaby. And, indeed, it <em>is</em> becoming a personal challenge, with the professor threading his fingers through his hair like that, with the professor singing so <em>sweetly</em>, to stay awake. </p><p>(The measured, even tempo of Lysandre’s breathing indicates that he might even <em>lose </em>this battle.)</p><p>”Mmm, maybe, but I’m not <em>trained</em> in singing, so cut me some slack,” Augustine says with a laugh, pressing a kiss to his lover’s forehead. “I’m a <em>researcher</em>. But…you don’t seem to <em>dislike </em>my singing, all the same.”</p><p>“Oh, I assure you - whether you sing off-key or not, <em>mon cher</em>, your voice is still beautiful.” Lips crinkle into a smile, even as his eyes remain closed. “You can sing some more, it’s alright…”</p><p>Augustine, who’s still pressing those feather-light kisses to Lysandre’s cheeks, his forehead, his lips, smiles against his skin, tugs Lysandre down so the taller man can rest his head on his shoulder. He’s noticed that losing battle with sleep, and sometimes, even Augustine Sycamore plays to win.</p><p><em>”A silent conversation - no words cause there’s no need. We let the tapes mix up the years, and press repeat, and press repeat. The trunk is filled with records, and books and chairs and clothes…</em>”</p><p>As he sings, he cradles his partner, the hold tightening somewhat at the next line: “<em>I’m smiling on the surface, I’m scared as hell below</em>.”</p><p>“Don’t be scared…I’ve got you,” Lysandre says, opening his eyes for a moment, turning to press a tired kiss to his partner’s jaw, half-asleep. “I’ve got you…”</p><p>”That’s the <em>line</em>, Lys,” Augustine says, “and <em>I’m </em>the one holding <em>you</em>. Silly…” Still, his cheeks are pinking, slightly, and he lies back on the couch, tugging Lysandre down with him, his fingers still threading lightly through the other man’s fiery hair.</p><p>Lysandre’s eyes slide shut again, a soft repetition of “I’ve got you, Augustine…” escaping his lips in a breathy exhale. It’s even <em>harder </em>to stay awake, now, in this reclined position, his head on Sycamore’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of it, the rhythm as lulling as the song’s.</p><p>”I know you do,” Augustine assures, wrapping his arms securely around his partner. “<em>And when we arrive, the hardest of goodbyes - you will dry my eyes. Somehow, you’re always by my side…</em>”</p><p>As he feels Lysandre’s body grow heavy with sleep, he switches to wordless humming. It’s usually the other way around - <em>he’s </em>normally the one falling asleep in the middle of a conversation or discussion, overworked and underrested, and it’s usually <em>Lysandre </em>who has to get <em>him </em>up to bed.</p><p>To be the one trusted right now, for someone as guarded as Lysandre to leave himself so vulnerable…</p><p><em>I love you, too, Lys</em>, he thinks, and he settles back, humming fading away as he dozes off in turn, tired and content and in love.</p>
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